Dianne

The beginning of a lifetime…

It was Autumn of 1965 and I was falling in love…I just didn’t realize it at the time.

I thought Bill and I were just very close friends – soulmates – who spent as much time together as possible, sharing our deepest thoughts and feelings.

I was still hearing from Ross who was at sea on the U.S.S. Forrestal, and Bill was still dating the tall redhead named Linda. I knew he wasn’t serious about her, but she, evidently, had other plans. One afternoon in the BSU, I was sitting with a group of friends when Linda came over to our table. She had a notebook with her and commented directly to me, “I wanted to show you the menus I’ve planned for when Bill and I get married”…hmmm.

A loud bell went off in my head, and I remember the thought I had at that precise moment: “THAT’S what you think”. Quiet little Baptist girl I was…but the thought was there all the same.

Not long after that, Bill and I started officially dating exclusively. It was a late Autumn afternoon, and we went to the movies at the Audubon Park Theater. When we came out, night had fallen and it was snowing….enormous beautiful snowflakes drifting down in the moonlight. We drove through Audubon Park with its magnificent trees covered in a blanket of white. Bill spun circles in the snow in his black little VW bug, and we laughed until we almost cried…

Bill asked me to marry him sometime in early 1966…I said no the first time. I’m not sure why. Maybe I was still a little scared of the whole idea of marriage…I don’t know. I’m glad he asked the second time a few weeks later, when I promptly said yes.

We began planning a wedding for September 1966. We were both still in college and each working part-time. Needless to say, there was very little money; but we were young and in love, and that didn’t seem to be a problem. My mother made my beautiful wedding dress. I had an exquisite bouquet of yellow roses, and my bridesmaids each carried a long-stemmed yellow rose with greenery and ribbons. The church was packed with family and friends. It was a beautiful wedding…

We couldn’t afford an official “honeymoon” at that time, so we took special day trips to fun places within driving distance of our new little duplex home. We drove to Shiloh and toured the battlefields of the Civil War. We went to Pickwick Lake…and even managed to get an invitation to go below to see the inner workings of the huge dam there (Bill was an industrial technology major and loved that). We took a picnic to Shelby Forest. Without spending much money at all, it was still a wonderful time…

Leaving the church after the reception…back when everyone still threw RICE at you!

Shadows and highlights…

My Southern Heart, Reflections

As the new year has come and gone, I’ve been thinking about, and struggling with, how to tell the rest of the story…

Telling a story is much like painting a picture…only with words.

My grandchildren create the most wonderful paintings…quite magical paintings actually. However, my grandchildren haven’t learned about shadows just yet. Their paintings are in pure colors…no dark shadows that would give their paintings realism and depth. Our lives are like this. The joyful times in our lives are the brilliant blues, reds, golds, vibrant greens and even bright silver…the highlights of our lives. Any painting without highlights is dreary and flat.

It’s the valleys – the sad times…the losses…the grief – those are the times in which we grow. Those are the times that create the depth and dimension in our lives. Granted, while we’re in those valleys, we don’t comprehend that fact. We only feel the pain or loss. Those valleys are the times that stretch us, test us, strengthen our faith and propel us into the arms of our loving Heavenly Father.So, life is made up of mountaintops and valleys. It’s that way with each of us. I thank God for the mountaintops He has given me over the years, but I also thank Him for the valleys…and for being with me each step of way through them. So, as I struggle with how to put my life into words, I’ll try to remember to be thankful for both the mountaintops and the valleys.
I discovered the following poem many years ago. It’s still true today.

My Life Is But A Weaving

My life is but a weaving between my Lord and me;

I cannot choose the colors He worketh steadily.

Oft times He weaveth sorrow, and I, in foolish pride,

Forget He sees the upper, and I the under side.

Not ’til the loom is silent and the shuttles cease to fly,

Shall God unroll the canvas and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful in the Weaver’s skilled hand,

As the threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

He knows, He loves, He cares, nothing this truth can dim.

He gives His very best to those who leave the choice with Him.

(author unknown)

(I recently discovered the treasured drawing at the top of the page in a box of old papers I was going through. The drawing is done in crayon on manila paper and is by my older son who just turned forty in August of 2008! My best guess is he was about 7 or 8 years old when he did this drawing. Actually, he did put some “shadows” beneath the ship, which was pretty clever for that age. He is now a missionary doctor in the mountains of Peru.)

September 1965…

Family, My Southern Heart, Reflections

It was Autumn again. A whole year had passed since I had first come to Memphis State. Things seemed different now…no longer the strangeness of being new.

It had been an eventful summer and one in which I’d grown a great deal. I’d been challenged and come away the better for it. I thought often about the beautiful Pacific Northwest and all that I seen there. I also thought about how God had chosen to work in such a mysterious way…for my good and His glory. I kept the papers from the train reservation for many years…just in case I forgot.

Bill came over before school started back to ask me to speak to his church youth group about my summer in Seattle. I had taken many slides and felt comfortable sharing. He told me about his summer and his experiences at the Air Force flight training. He was taking flying lessons at a small airport in the county. One afternoon he stopped by my house on his way home from his flying lesson. He had completed his first solo flight. In keeping with tradition, they had cut off the back half of his shirt and signed it with the date. He couldn’t wait to show me, and I was excited for him.

Once again, the BSU was the hub of activity with everyone returning back to school and sharing the events of their summer. Several of the students had traveled to other destinations as summer missionaries. It was fun sharing stories with each other.

Autumn of 1965 would also be when I realized that my feelings for Bill were more than just friendship…

Our birthday…

My Southern Heart, Reflections

Today is the first day of December…our birthday, Bill’s and mine…and, perhaps, the best time to begin telling our story.

The first time I ever saw his face was on an Autumn afternoon in 1964. I was sitting on the sofa by the fireplace in the BSU with some friends, when he walked in the door. He was wearing his Air Force ROTC dress uniform. He removed his officer’s cap and placed it on the top shelf of the coat rack. I couldn’t help watching him as he walked over to another group of friends and immediately became the center of attention…talking and laughing. I remember thinking he was handsome, very sharp and self-assured, almost cocky…much like a young Tom Cruise in Top Gun. He had beautiful green eyes and dark brown hair clipped short in the ROTC required style. There was something about him that I definitely found appealing.

His name was Bill. I had no way of knowing at that moment that I would spend thirty-nine years of my life with him. Life is a remarkable gift, but unfolds just one brief moment at the time; and at that time, I was dating Mike (the young Sean Connery look-alike), and Bill was dating a redhead named Linda, who was at least as tall as he was or maybe a little taller. Linda was a home economics major as I recall and it would, in the months to come, be a comment made by Linda that made me realize my true feelings for Bill…but that’s later in our story.

The exact moment that Bill and I met is lost in my memory, but over the Autumn of 1964 we became friends. At some point during that season, Bill asked me to go to a church banquet with him which was held at a beautiful campgrounds. Memory is a funny thing…laid down in so many transparent layers…but it almost seems I can remember the drive out there in his little black VW bug. There’s a canopy of brilliant colors flashing past as we drive along those winding roads…laughing and talking all the way. Many years have passed, but I remember the beautiful gardenia corsage he gave me. Gardenias would be one of his favorites for years to come.

As the months and seasons came and went, our friendship continued to grow. We would find an empty picnic table on the grounds of the BSU when the weather was good and enjoy our lunch together. He would share his Mom’s homemade oatmeal raisin cookies with me, which I loved. After lunch, we’d go for long walks in the neighborhood surrounding the MSU campus. Looking back now, I realize we were wanting to get away from the crowd at the BSU…we wanted time to talk and get to know one another.

Little did I know that while I was growing up on Victor Drive, Bill lived just a few short blocks from me all that time. We went to different schools and different churches, so we had never met until that day in the BSU.

For years to come, I would tell Bill that I had been his birthday gift when he was only two years old…

Traditions…

Family, My Southern Heart, Reflections

Mama cherished the holidays each year, because it meant we would all be together once again. Of course, there were other times throughout the year that the family gathered in one place, but the holidays were special. First, there was the Thanksgiving feast and just a few weeks later…Christmas.

Sometime during the week or so before Christmas, we would go to a small grocery store on Jackson Avenue that sold cut Christmas trees looking for that special tree. As I recall, it was usually a fragrant Cedar. Compared to our next door neighbor’s tree, which looked like Martha Stewart would have decorated it, our tree looked a bit like a Charlie Brown tree. There were only the large colored lights, a little red or green garland roping, a few ornaments and icicles, but Sharon and I thought it was beautiful.

As I recall, there weren’t a lot of presents each year, but I do recall one special gift. I must have been about fourteen that year. I had wanted my very own shoe skates and had actually found them hidden away a week or so before Christmas. Unfortunately, Mama forgot about them. She forgot to give them to me, and all the time, I knew where they were. I don’t remember now when she finally remembered them, but I did, finally, get them that Christmas.

Looking at the elaborate felt stockings I have now, I remember our Christmas stockings all those years ago…nylon hosiery stockings filled with oranges, apples, walnuts, pecans and candy. I remember all those little stockings filled and arranged in front of our Santa gifts under the tree. Looking back now, it seems we opened our gifts to one another on Christmas eve, and then Santa arrived on Christmas morning. Santa didn’t bring very much, but it was special all the same.

Our Christmas eve tradition was to have our evening meal, open gifts to one another and then drive around looking at all the spectacular displays of Christmas lights. There was one particular wealthy neighborhood that put up amazing displays of lighted Christmas decorations each year…all across their front lawns, trees and houses. My nieces, nephew and I could hardly wait for our meal to be over and gifts to be opened so we could go see the lights. It seems so simple with the telling, but it was a special time and a treasured memory.

As the years passed and we all grew up and had our own families, the traditions evolved. We took turns hosting the Thanksgiving and Christmas meals. Eventually, the next generations arrived, families grew larger and distances separated us…as it does now. Even so, the memories of those special times live on.